Blood and Gold
by Khiori
Summary: Saavik begins a hunt for blood with an 'old friend'.


Saavik tried to hide herself further back into the sodden filth of her cage and rubbed tenderly at her swollen wrists. Raw and inflamed, the fair skin was not reacting well to the shackles.

 _But then, neither am I._

She tucked her cold face against her bare knees, closing her eyes tiredly. The stench and chill and her shivering nakedness faded briefly as an image of Vulcan rose up and filled her mind. Hot and clean and safe.

She almost smiled.

And then her stomach twisted painfully again in bitter hunger and she gave it up reluctantly and opened her eyes again.

There was nothing of Vulcan here and pretending only encouraged the path to despair. Or madness.

Not that insanity might be a welcome relief.

She eyed the dented foul encrustation that amounted to her feeding dish with something rapidly approaching nausea.

She had dared to eat the slop only once since her arrival in the holding pens and had suffered through a four day vicious bout of severe food poisoning, which had earned her the kind of beating that brought ugly childhood memories of Hellguard back, coupled with a brutal hosing down that near drowned her.

Wisely, she had refused to eat it since, carefully dumping the unidentifiable sludge into the bottom of her cage when no one was looking, where it mixed unnoticed with excrement and urine until the pens got their weekly power washing.

The only problem was that there was nothing else to eat.

She rubbed her bruised and dirty face against an equally abused arm wearily.

The screams and begging began again.

Ever so cautiously Saavik peered animal wary through the bars.

The Guards were having their sport with one of the others this evening.

She felt a surge of profound sympathy for their slave victim.

She looked away.

And a bitterly shameful utter _relief_.

Because it meant then they would not be coming to _her_ cage tonight for their entertainment.

Coarse loud laughter and jeering betting shouts could now be heard.

The begging had now stopped and there was only the screaming, higher and higher.

Saavik leaned her head again on her knees and forced her eyes to close. Her shivering became harder and she tried to put the sensation that was half physiological and the other entirely psychological out of her mind along with every other horror about the evil place.

At least Hellguard had been warm.

And there had been places to hide.

And ways to fight back.

She tried to shut her mind down sufficient for sleep using the old meditation techniques Spock had once taught her as a child. But she could not find her center enough to allow the mercy of even a tormented dream rest.

Tomorrow would be another selling day. There would be hope that she would be allowed to stand at auction this time.

Her lip curled at the vile irony.

To be sold was better than to remain in the pens.

Unfortunately, the Overseer kept hesitating to send her, dithering back and forth with his Accountants, trying to decide if he would make at least the minimum required sale quota on her or if she would end up being worth more kept here as recreation for torment or pleasure for the Guards.

Or as one of the play favors he so often gave to pacify and bribe his more spoiled and temperamental visiting Patrons to keep their coin filling the accounts and their bids at his auctions.

Not many Owners felt daring enough to take on the potential financial loss or trouble of a Starfleet officer. True, they could be worked hard. Or used hard. But Starfleet officers had a well known reputation for seeking freedom. No wise Owner could trust them, even as far as an ordinary slave. They fought their captors. Escaped. Encouraged dissent and uprising amongst their fellow slaves. And they had to be continually chained and caged whenever they were not in use or at labor, while also having to be constantly guarded and typically drugged to retain even then. Additional costs of time and personnel, materials and profit.

Unnecessary wastes, when there were far easier to control slaves available for purchase.

She frowned thoughtfully.

Still she knew she was beautiful and her intense eyes drew desire.

And there was always a fool who let desire have mastery over logic.

She merely needed the opportunity.

Saavik resolved to try and look more subservient tomorrow when the Cargo Master walked the cages deciding who would go to auction.

She scratched her battered cheek where the latest bruise in the collection was making her itch and almost managed another shadow of a smile.

His eyebrow would have risen at the very irony of _Saavik_ trying to be _subservient_.

She felt another stab of pain, this one entirely nonphysical. She squeezed her eyes tighter shut and tried to put him out of her mind entirely.

She could withstand everything here no matter how horrific or degrading but the thought of _him_.

Most likely, he would never know what happened to her.

And it would make him grieve all the more keenly.

Saavik gritted her teeth hard.

What was, was.

Roaring cheers broke out and she could not hear the slave anymore.

Unconscious or catatonic, most likely.

There was usually irritated cursing if one lucked into the mercy of death.

Not because anyone here actually gave a damn about the slaves themselves. It was the financial aspect of the loss.

Saavik sighed and closed her eyes.

Perhaps tomorrow would bring at least only a single master's abuse.

Her Romulan humor flared and this time she did smile. It was an ugly thing though; full of teeth and hate, but it at last let her fall into a sleep barren even of stars.

The man was tall, with an aristocratic bearing and hawk nose. He wore more wealth than the Overseer had seen in a lifetime of Patrons and he looked fast approaching a dark fury.

"I _said_ , I wanted something with _flavor_." His lip twisted in a snarl. "And yet, you bring me _these?_ "

The Overseer cringed beneath that anger. "But, noble sir, these have been well trained!"

The man slapped his crystal wine glass off the serving table and it crashed impressively against the wall, sending a dark smear very much like blood down the metal. "Trained? _Trained?_ You call these mewing, blank-eyed things _trained?_ "

The Overseer's skin was slicking with sweat. "I assure you, noble sir, we will have better on the auction stand!"

" _Am I at the auction?_ " he roared. He smashed out with a fist and sent a fine vase shattering. " _I want my pleasure now!_ "

The Overseer looked absolutely ill and cringed further down. "But, noble-"

He grabbed the man by the throat and squeezed.

The Overseer's eyes bulged almost to popping.

"I want one who can _withstand_ me," he leaned close and smiled a horrifically predatory smile, "or I will take my lost gold out of _you_."

He dropped the Overseer like an unsatisfactory sweet and his face flushed a most terrorizing bronze green with building rage. " _Now!_ '

The Overseer scrambled backwards like a crab for the door and squealed as the chair came sailing towards him.

Saavik was dragged out of a mindless sleep and out of her cage so roughly that she panicked. She lashed out wildly, fighting her chains and the gripping hands with incoherent half awake fear.

Pain exploded in her ribs as the prod connected and she went down hard, blood roaring in her ears and the stars she had lost in dreams exploding before her eyes. She tried to just breathe.

"Do you want him to kill us?!" screamed the Overseer. "Get her washed and ready, now!" He struck out at the nearest guard and she was hauled upright and dragged to the drains.

Saavik gasped and curled in on herself against the sudden blast of freezing water that all but scoured her flesh off.

"Use some of that-no, the _other!_ "

Cleanser was dumped and scrubbed unmercifully into her skin and hair. Welts and sores shrieked pain at the attention and it was all she could do to not suffocate as she was shoved under the hose again. They hauled her out choking water and wiped her down roughly, making her skin hot with the scraping fabric, then attacked her hair and all but ripping the snarls out with the heavy brushes. They yanked her down further to the bins and the Overseer himself pawed frantically through the auction clothes. He found a fairly clean cream colored shirt that had once belonged to a much larger man and they unlocked her chains long enough to thrust her in it. It fell across her thighs and hung open but they didn't bother fastening it closed, they just locked her chains back to the shackles, cursing as she staggered.

"Take her to him now!"

Saavik felt the now familiar tightness beginning in her belly. She knew what was going to happen now. She began distancing her mind.

She noticed nothing of the jarring dragging trip to the Patron Rooms, heard the Overseer's fawning flattery and quick promises that she would prove workable as if from underwater and then she was forced to her knees and her chains locked to the floor. The door closed behind her and she did not bother lifting her eyes from the scarred deck beneath her bare legs.

Yes, she knew this one.

She knew she would end up fighting once the pain began.

Just as she knew she would end up losing and would only have to endure.

It was the actual tenderness of the first touch that shocked her enough to break through her distancing and she looked up.

And gasped hard, jaw dropping in complete disbelief.

Achernar chuckled softly and held her face in his hands. His dark eyes held an absolute rage but he touched her with nothing but profound gentleness. "Have you any idea of how much gold and how many favors I've spent trying to find you, Little Cat?"

And to her profound shame, she began to weep and could not stop.

He stroked her damp hair and murmured soft, quiet things and then tabbed the hidden button on an arm clasp.

They dissolved in a whirl of gold.

Saavik jerked awake, curled almost painfully tight on herself, and found that she was in a bed of the richest silk. For a terrible moment she couldn't breathe or remember anything and her body spasmed in disoriented fear and she began to fight the sheets.

"Easy, woman, those cost more than your retirement."

She started violently and whipped about, eyes wild.

Achernar was leaned back casually and wisely across the room, dressed in black. His cloak lay draped over him and the dim lighting of the ship made his silver hair seem very bright. His hands lay empty and where she could see them on his lap and he waited patiently until she slowly calmed.

"You . . . you are real?"

He cocked his head and grinned. "Philosophy so early, such the Vulcan he has made you."

She stared at him.

"Not convinced, I see. Fine, may I note how absolutely delightful you look in silk?"

Slowly, very slowly, the weakest of smiles shadowed her mouth. "It is you."

His grin widened and then he sobered. "You have worried me, Little Cat."

"How . . . how did you find me?" she asked quietly.

He winked. "Trade secrets."

Saavik realized her arms were too light and found that the chains and shackles were gone. As was the collar and the filth and all evidence of her suffering that they had left on her skin. Only her bones which had begun to grow prominent with hunger remained as witness to her experience. She wondered whether that meant his ship's sickbay was cutting edge or she had been sedated for a while. Her mind held nothing but black fog and she made herself set it aside. She was clean, dressed in an elegant shift worthy of royalty, and safe.

She looked at him.

"I assure you, I was entirely the gentleman," he said softly.

"I . . . know. Thank you . . . for coming for me."

"Always."

And she could hear the Honor Oath in it.

"Now. Are you hungry?"

She grimaced.

"I can promise better meals than your last accommodations."

Saavik's face froze.

Achernar murmured a curse and his face colored. "Forgiveness, Little Cat. Reminding you was unintentional."

Saavik forced her fingers to unclench from the silk and flushed herself and looked away. "I . . . am hungry."

"You haven't reached starvation levels and our kind doesn't need caution when returning to eating until then, so it is your preference. Something soothing or more . . . awakening?"

She cleared her throat, still feeling . . . incoherent. "Awakening . . . please."

A bit of his impish humor returned. "And would you like me to serve it to you here, my lady?"

He ducked the pillow and laughed. " _There_ is my Little Cat. There are bathing facilities behind the door to your left, clothing in the trunk at your feet, and I will be preparing your meal. Take the time you wish." He rose and bowed, vanishing out the door.

It took almost everything she had to get out of the bed. Not because she was too weak, but because she kept shivering uncontrollably as the realization of her rescue slowly sank in. She staggered a bit and fumbled her way into the 'fresher.

And stood unbelieving at her image in the mirror.

Free.

Safe.

The shower was hot and she realized she couldn't seem to stop cleaning herself. There was a terrible moment when she thought she might begin weeping again, but she choked it down and forced herself out of the water, shaking with memories and emotions.

She dried and dressed herself in a thick soft tunic and pants, sliding her feet into boots while carefully thinking of nothing at all except for the gratitude she had that his replicator had been programmed for her exactly.

It took her almost as long as the shower to open the door and she cursed at herself until she did it.

She moved silently through his ship, following his scent and the smell of spices cooking, and stood for a while on the threshold watching him cook.

"Replicators are poor meal providers," he said quietly as he worked, "the taste is always not quite right and there is no real smell."

She nodded. The humans rarely noticed it, but most of the other species found themselves adding far more spices to their meals to compensate for the blandness.

His motions were efficient and she found herself relaxing a little.

She joined him at the grills.

Achernar handed her a flat stir stick and motioned her to one of the two hot cooking griddles. "Keep the thin noodles moving or they will burn."

She obeyed, letting the rich, spicy smell fill her nostrils. He nodded approvingly and rolled a thick, dark sauce through the vegetables he was working over in the other. His cloak lay draped over a nearby chair and his tunic's sleeves were rolled out of his way. Saavik eyed the small worn kettle heating.

"Tea," He said, sliding a sly glance at her. "Or is Vulcan not civilized enough for tea?"

She gave him a look and deftly turned the noodles. "Vulcans perfected the art."

He grinned. "Is that so?"

"It is."

"How so?"

"It is a study of logic and order."

"Oh? Then how do you explain, pray tell, the small fact that the Romulans have tea, also?"

"Remnants of the Sundering," she said calmly, tending the noodles. "Your people took it with them when they left Vulcan."

He laughed. "That is _outrageous!_ "

"The truth often is."

He shook his head, still laughing. "If you said such a thing in the Senate there would be a bloodbath!" He shook his stir stick at her. "You are absolutely forbidden to speak publicly on Romulus!"

Saavik's eyes widened in deliberate innocence. "On tea or the Sundering?"

"Aahh! _Either!_ "

She dipped her head. "I will agree to that."

He abruptly narrowed his eyes. "Now, I am suspicious."

Her eyebrow lifted. "You are Romulan; suspicion is a genetic natural state."

He grinned, teasingly. "Yes, from the _Vulcans_."

Saavik made a derisive noise.

They divided the meal and sat together to eat. Saavik felt an almost surreal daze to the comfortable silence and frowned severely.

He paused, mid bite. "What?"

Saavik shook her head, keeping her eyes firmly on her food.

He watched her a long moment and then a smiled.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, the light in his eyes positively dancing. "Is the, ah, food to your liking?"

Saavik studied him a long moment very carefully. "Yes, thank you." She laid down her eating utensil. "Where are we?"

"Mess, approximately a third of the way-"

Saavik's eyes became slits.

He sighed. "Not far from the Neutral Zone."

"Going towards or away from it?" Saavik asked in a carefully uninflected tone.

He frowned and crossed his arms. "You don't trust me?"

"That is not an answer."

"Neither was yours."

Their stares locked.

His eyes softened. "I will take you to the home you choose. As I promised before."

Saavik's face eased and she inclined her head slowly. "Thank you."

"I am at your service."

"Achernar . . . ."

"Yes?"

"I owe you Honor Debt."

"Perhaps one day I will call for it."

His comm chirped and he actually blinked. "Excuse me," he said calmly and immediately vanished towards the ship's bridge.

The sudden emptiness of the mess made her inexplicably weary.

And with that came the memories of her cage.

Saavik shoved her food away, blindly. For long minutes she fought just to _breathe_ , her nails cutting bloody arcs in her palms as she shook uncontrollably, choking in panic and horror. But her childhood ingrained unrelenting refusal to surrender bore her through the inner storm and slowly, ever so slowly, she regained mastery. Sweating and dry throated, she rubbed her face painfully hard and then nearly started out of her skin entirely when Achernar leaned around the open door frame.

Showing he possessed either far more wisdom or far greater compassion than she had previously realized, he pretended smoothly that he had not noticed either it or the sweat that now covered her skin and dampened her clothing.

He knew what pride was.

And how it hurt when it was torn away.

His eyes were dark and tight, but he cleared his throat and smiled his most winning smile. "I, ah, trust you don't mind taking the . . . scenic route home?"

"I-" She swallowed, giving herself a few moments to force her barely calming mind to focus as she stared hard at him.

There was something she could not read in his too perfect smile.

Her eyes narrowed slowly. "Just . . . _how_ scenic?"

That something grew sharper. "That depends. Did you know that you weren't the only one captured from your ship while on leave?"

Saavik whitened and her hands fisted. She stared down at them, waiting for the mingled wild fear and helpless rage to come. To consume her again as it had been. But it didn't. It didn't.

She was utterly, eerily, calm.

Achernar frowned, uneasily. "Saavik?"

"We will rescue them," she said softly.

He caught his hand instinctively reaching for his hideaway weapon at the tone in her voice. "Yes."

Saavik slowly lifted her head and looked at him and it was suddenly all Achernar could do to force himself to hold _still_.

Because Hellguard looked out from her eyes.

 _Hungry_.

"And I will take the blood owed us."


End file.
